


Counting the days

by Mierke



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:45:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3968377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mierke/pseuds/Mierke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snape's gone, and Hermione is counting the days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting the days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adonais](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adonais/gifts).



Hermione closed her notebook. She hid it in the last drawer, underneath a stack of paperwork and a couple of books ranging from _Hogwarts: A History_ to _Law and Magic through the Ages_. It was the last place any of her friends would willingly delve into, and thus her pages and pages of vertical and horizontal marks were hidden from view again. 

She added a mark every morning. It didn't matter how her night had been, or how long she'd been away from home before finally succumbing to the comfort of her bed. It didn't matter when she'd woken up, or how late she was for the start of her day. Before she did anything else, she sat at her desk and drew a line. On bad days, she traced her fingers over each and every one of them, forcing herself to remember the agony of so many empty days. On good days, she closed the notebook immediately after her tally of the day, and traced her fingers over the inscription on the cover.

_He will come home_.

She had written those words herself, had tried to imprint the thought into her brain so she would never forget. No matter how many days had passed, no matter how many weeks her life had been filled with the nothingness of her daily chores, it was the thought she held on to with all her might. 

Hermione drew a deep breath. Time to start her day.

***

Hermione fought against the tears as she picked out a notebook from her pile of unused ones. Severus had always laughed at her collection of Muggle notebooks, but she liked them. No matter how much she enjoyed being a part of the magical world, no scroll could compare to a good notebook. Oh, Severus had tried to convince her. Had given her scroll upon scroll, had shown her the differences, why he liked this one or this one best, but she had always just laughed.

When she finally found one she liked - a black one with shining silver scribbles on the cover - she had to wipe away the first tear that escaped from her eyes to prevent it from falling on the notebook. Her notebooks usually had a title ("SPEW ideas", said one, and "Why he loves me", said another), and she took out her wand to inscribe this one.

Her hand was trembling and she drew a couple of deep breaths, hoping to still her wand so her inscription would be perfect. It would be her only companion for who knows how long, and she couldn't mess this up. She owed it to Severus to keep it together until he came back to her. Until he came home.

The words came out a little wobbly, but it didn't look all that bad. Tracing the letters with her eyes and forcing herself to really _see_ and take in what she had written, Hermione put her wand down and finally let the tears fall and the sobs overcome her.

***

Today was a memory day. On those days, when Hermione had gotten up early enough and had the time to mourn - not exactly mourn, but still, at the same time, exactly that - she flipped over her notebook and started at the back. There, hidden behind the thick back cover with no title at all, she collected memories. She collected the sound of his voice, the curve of his hip, the shape of the small scar just below his collarbone that he hated and she so loved.

Today she wrote about the taste of his tears. People never believed her when she told them Severus had emotions, showed emotions, like everyone else. But she had kissed the corner of his mouth as he smiled, and she had kissed the tears from his cheeks as he cried. She could never figure out how to explain it; how to explain Severus' range from depression to euphoria without betraying the confidence he showed in her, without making him seem like something less than who he was. It wasn't up to her to break through the walls he had built between himself and the rest of the world, so she kept the essence of who he was close to her heart, safe from scrutiny and laughter. 

Hermione drew a deep breath and closed the notebook, hiding the memories far away. Time to start another day.

***

When Hermione came upstairs, Severus lay facing away from her, his rigid back a clear sign to her to leave him be. She couldn't, though. Sometimes she would. There were days when she thought that giving him space was the best thing she could do, leave him to figure things out on his own, work through his emotions by himself. But not this time.

She took off her clothes and slipped underneath the blankets, Severus' nightclothes rough against her bare skin. She wrapped an arm around him, and when she laid her head against his shoulder she could feel him tensing, as if he was on the verge of pushing her away. She held tighter, drew circles on his stomach with her right hand, and tried to figure out what she could say to make him open up to her. 

"I love you," was all she could come up with, and though she knew it was painfully inadequate in any situation, but especially in this one, she uttered the words anyway. His shoulders seemed to relax the tiniest bit, so she repeated it, over and over and over again. She whispered it into his ear, let the sounds trace his mind the way her fingers were tracing his stomach. 

When the tension seemed to have lifted from his body, she pushed a little against his left shoulder so he lay on his back next to her. Supporting herself on one elbow, she kissed his forehead, his eyebrows, his nose. She kissed the tears from his cheeks and still all she could think of to say was how much she loved him. When her mouth met his, he dragged her into a hungry kiss, his right hand on the back of her head to keep her close. With his other hand he pulled at her hips so she slid over him. 

She pushed his robe up, not content with the feeling of the material against her skin. He seemed to agree; before she had even gotten it over his hips he had already taken off the entire thing. She lay back down, her skin tingling, her nerves singing where his fingers touched her skin, where their bodies touched and melted into each other. She would have been content to just lie there with him, but his hands roamed over her body and his lips sought hers again.

They kissed, their hunger intensified by their need to be close, and he flipped them over without breaking contact. Hermione sighed from the weight of his body on hers, and her hands traced a path over his back. She could feel the muscles in his back as he angled his hips closer to hers, and she couldn't help the moan that escaped her at the feel of the tip of his cock. She trembled underneath him and as Severus drove into her, as he filled her, he promised her over and over with his words and his body that he would come home to her.

***

Hermione wasn't always sad. On some days she had to resist the urge to set fire to the notebook, to see all the days she had gone without Severus go up in flames. Sometimes she thought it would help, that removing the marks would somehow remove the days from her mind, the pain from her soul, would erase the emptiness inside of her. But getting relief from the pain felt like a betrayal, so no matter how bad the urge, she never even tried.

On these days her tally mark got slashed into the notebook. Once her pen - because with a notebook belonged a fountain pen, not some quill, no matter how much Severus ridiculed her for it - had cut straight through the paper and she had had to painstakingly remove the page and copy all the existing marks onto the next one. She had been a little more careful since that day, and today's mark was furious, but not destructive.

She would keep him safe out of sheer stubbornness, protect him with the fury that would pour out of her were he to die. She needed to remember him. He would stay alive as long as she remembered him. 

Another mark. Another day to start.

***

"I will remember you. I will hold you close, and keep you alive in my thoughts and my dreams."

Hermione whispered the words, not sure whether Severus was even listening to her. He was staring into the distance, gathering the courage to leave. She wanted to beg him to stay with her, but she knew he couldn't. He had to go and take care of the loose end. This was his journey, and he needed to take it on his own. There wouldn't be a taskforce to back him up, no team to stand by him and save him when he failed.

Oh, she knew it made sense. She knew there was only one man capable of taking down Voldemort now Harry's part had been played and he'd become mortal once more. She just wished it didn't have to be her husband. She wished she could do the selfish thing and beg him to leave the shadow of the Dark Lord be. Right now, she didn't care that that meant he would be back in another decade or two, she didn't care that that would just leave Voldemort the time to collect new life force, new energy, new followers. She wanted her husband by her side. 

She took a shuddering breath against the tears that were threatening to fall, and held onto Severus' hand like it was a lifeline. She knew the moment he was ready to go; his posture changed, his mask had slid back on, and the man standing in front of her was more warrior than husband, more wizard than lover. 

"I love you," she said, her voice laced with the need to have him say it back. Just one more time, before he would leave her behind. Just one more time, to remind her that he was not walking away from _her_ , not _abandoning_ her.

"I love you," he whispered, and Hermione's heart swelled and broke as he turned on his axis and Disapparated.

***

On the first of every month, Hermione allowed herself a reality-free day.

She didn't get up at all on that day. She stayed in bed, kept her eyes tightly closed, and imagined what her life would have been like if Severus had still been with her. She could feel him lying next to her, then hear the sounds of breakfast preparation. She would talk to him as if he were there, and listen to his answers as if he were around to give them.

Her whole day was imaginary. In her head, she would go to work, then tell her husband the tales of her day when she came home. They would eat dinner together, after which they would spend the evening with a book and a cup of tea. Just before falling asleep, they would make love, and Hermione would swear to actually feeling his touch when she imagined that moment.

She didn't count those days. After all, as far as she was concerned, at the first of every month, Severus was still with her.

***

"I'm leaving."

Severus' voice was cold, his eyes hard as he looked at Hermione in a clear challenge for her to say anything, _anything_ , to get in his way. Hermione just looked back at her husband, keeping her emotions at bay and her voice clear as she answered him.

"I know."

She didn't break eye contact at the surprise in his eyes, and drank in the way they softened just slightly when he realised she really wasn't going to keep him from doing this. 

"You don't have to w-"

Before Severus could finish his sentence, Hermione had gotten up from her stair and clamped her hand over his mouth. She was crouched down in front of him, her other hand on his knee. 

"Don't," she said, her voice shaking just a little bit now the challenge had lifted from Severus' eyes. "Don't you dare. I'll be here when you get back."

Severus pushed his chair backwards, and pulled her hand away from his mouth. The coldness had returned to his eyes, and Hermione forced herself to keep looking back, to let her eyes pour the love she felt with every fibre of her being into his. 

"Be reasonable," he snapped. "I might not survive, and you would never know. I might come back injured, or damaged. You're a vibrant young woman with your life ahead of you. Don't throw that away because of a fantasy."

Hermione closed her eyes, shaking away the idea that he had meant their love, every part of their days together, had been a fantasy. He was trying to push her away and she knew it, but it still hurt. When she opened them again, however, she made sure nothing of that showed on her face. She had learned a thing or two from her husband's mask.

He still had her hand in his, and she caressed his palm with her thumb.

"You're right," she said. "I've got my life ahead of me. But it is my life, and it is my choices that will define it. _You_ are, and always will be, my choice."

***

Hermione's hands trembled as she got out her notebook from underneath the stacks of books. She had to put it down for a bit; if she tried opening it now, she would surely tear apart one or more of the pages. Tears kept falling out of her eyes, and no matter how angrily she wiped them away, they wouldn't stop.

She sat down, her hands still on the black notebook on the table, and closed her eyes in an effort to keep the pain inside. She only looked up when she felt someone's hands on hers, and met the black eyes of her husband.

"I had to keep you safe," she said through her sobs, and shakingly gave him the pages of horizontal and vertical marks, as if that would explain her breakdown. "I remembered you. Every single day, I remembered you."

Severus took the notebook from her, then pulled her into a strong hug. Hermione clung to her husband and let the years of despair overtake her. She had been strong last night; she had been so strong, so happy to have her husband back that all she had been able to do was rejoice. But today, the relief was overpowering and the lack of the ever-present fear that had kept her upright when he was gone made her muscles weak and her mind so, so tired. 

"I'm home," he said, and he tipped her chin up so he could kiss her through the tears that were still running down her face. Hermione latched onto him with a hunger that hadn't been stilled in almost thirty months, the feel of his tongue against hers so foreign, yet so familiar.

"I'm home," he said again, as he lifted her out of her chair, and carried her into the bedroom. His skin felt rough against Hermione's, and she traced her fingers over scars familiar and unfamiliar, trying to convince herself that this was real. 

"You're home?" she asked, her voice barely more of a whisper as her throat refused to function with all the tears choking her up. But he seemed to understand anyway, and as his hands found his way over her body, as he slid into her with a sigh that betrayed how much he had been longing for her as well, as he moaned her name into her ear, he promised her, mind, body and soul.

"I'm home."

And she believed.


End file.
